


Illusions

by Frostbearer



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst Satan strikes again, Gen, Post DMC5, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostbearer/pseuds/Frostbearer
Summary: Returning from the demonic realm things were meant to go back to normal. However how do things turn "normal" when that's nothing Dante's ever been accustomed to and the ghosts of the past are back in his life? Adjusting never came easy for the crimson hunter.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Illusions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glassthroat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassthroat/gifts).



> Written for the tumblr prompt "I AM SO SORRY FOR HURTING YOU.” My twin told me to bring my worst. I felt like delivering.

Peace was an illusion, nothing which truly existed in the life of one with demonic blood flowing through their veins or for that matter when at all having any kind of knowledge concerning the supernatural.

Upon their return from the demonic realm it had just been one hunt after the other, never an intermission back at the shop for long enough for either of the twins to really breathe - to take in that yes, they were in the human realm, they were essentially /home/ and neither of them were going anywhere other than off to hunt whatever beasties needed to be dealt with. 

Seven months back and Dante fell asleep in his own bed for the first time without Vergil in the shop. And for the first time since all of this started Dante had that old familiar nightmare of that he was alone again. That Vergil was gone and dead and _how could he be stupid enough to believe that Vergil for even a second lived when Dante had been the one to kill him_? His inner self with a mocking laugh taunting him for his folly. When torn from the realm of Morpheus with a start, breath coming fast and his pulse in his throat the sheer lack of Vergil’s presence solidified what his brain kept telling him. This was all a dream. An illusion. Vergil was dead. Gone. 

_You killed him, remember?_

This was a spiral he went down occasionally but for some reason this hit him harder than before. It had felt so real. Like he’d actually for the first time in years felt alive. As if he had felt peace of mind for the first time since that plunge. 

A part of his stash of alcohol was one he almost never touched as its origins were demonic and affected him a lot more and faster. Sleep-deprived and angst ridden Dante opted to drown his nightmares until they went away or he was numb enough not to feel. It worked in the past. Should work now as well. Hours (days? weeks?) later the content of the bottles were no more but Dante still felt empty and hollow in a way he hadn’t been since the other half of the perfect amulet had dropped onto the floor on Mallet Island.

By all means he should have heard the door to the Devil May Cry open and close, should have reacted to footsteps and the presence of someone demonic yet he sat on the floor in his upstairs bedroom, twirling the neck of an empty bottle between his fingers, not even raising his eyes from staring blankly at the wall.

The calling of his name resulted in nothing but when a half-gloved hand wrapped around his jaw to tilt his head he became aware of that his favourite and most hated illusion was there again. And since it was just an illusion Dante didn’t care about that he moved faster than a human, yanking his mirror image down to his level and burying his face against his neck, clinging on to him like a man drowning holding onto a buoy. Vaguely he was aware of that he was being grabbed but he clung harder, refusing to let go, inhaling the painfully familiar scent of blood, leather, metal, sulphuric ash and the almost citrusy scent he’d always associated with his twin. 

“Dun care that you’re an illusion. Jus’ lemme have this.” Words slurred and barely audible, muffled as they were against the leather of Vergil’s armoured vest yet Dante dimly noticed that illusion-Vergil’s chest seemed to jump a beat before tension slowly eased and he was being embraced. It wasn’t perfect, he made a few complaining sounds to adjust better and the other shifted as well, settling down more properly. Time seemed to pass and Dante slowly drifted into the first proper sleep in ages, but not before the normally sardonic voice murmured “I am so sorry I hurt you,” in a tone _sotto voce_ he hadn’t heard since… before the tower, back before they’d become bitter rivals and when they’d for some time had been _one_.

That Dante hours later woke in his own bed with no memory of the event said very little, but for the first time in who knew how long he felt as if he’d finally gotten some proper rest. And if Vergil gave him a long, measured look when he made his way downstairs he said nothing of it. Business as usual. 

After all it had just been a dream. Right?


End file.
